


Some Kind of Madness

by owltype



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, DUM-E feels, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, M/M, POV Alternating, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rating May Change, Slow Build, Steve Friendly, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Friendly, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, obligatory fix-it fic because CA:CW left me with too many feels, unsafe medical practices
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 06:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8002138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owltype/pseuds/owltype
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Together, they defeated the Chitauri. Together, they rid the world of Ultron's influence. If they could do that, they can do this.</p><p>If they don't kill each other, first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. burning bridges need water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First Avengers fic. Not beta-read, so all mistakes are my own. Poke me with the grammar stick if you find anything wrong.
> 
>  
> 
> **Revisions made 05 July, 2017.**

_From: Shellhead_

_Time Stamp: 12/02/16 0115_

_Message: its a quarter afer 1 im al alone and I need u no_

 

Steve stares at the phone, hardly believing what he’s seeing. It’s been six months without word from Tony--he never even received a cursory “Die in a fire, asshole!” text.  _Six months_  in limbo, wondering where they stand and what Tony is thinking and if he even still cares, and when the radio silence finally ends, it’s with this string of drivel Steve can’t comprehend.

“So, he finally reached out,” comes Nat’s voice from the doorway and Steve doesn’t even react, not at all surprised she’s there.

“If you could call it that,” Steve grumbles, handing the phone over to Nat just as another text comes through.

 

_From: Shellhead_

_Time Stamp: 12/02/16 0121_

_Message: Said wuldn’t call but iI lost all control and i need u now_

 

Nat laughs as she hands the phone back to Steve. “Never pegged Stark as a Lady Antebellum fan.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Steve says, feeling suddenly more exhausted and disconnected from the world than he has in a while.

Nat sinks down next to him on the bed. Never a very tactile person, Steve  _is_  surprised when she wraps an arm around his shoulders for a quick squeeze. “It means,” she says slowly, “that he misses you.”

“You think so?” Steve asks, hating that he sounds so hopeful. He’s spent months trying to fool everyone—trying to fool _himself_ into thinking he doesn’t care about Tony anymore. After all, he’d extended the olive branch first and Tony had snubbed him. Steve had tried, had done his best with what he had to work with. He hadn’t wanted to put himself out there again, to be rejected a second time, so he’d resolved not to do or say anything until Tony contacted him.

He realizes now how stupid he’d been to think Tony would reach out to him. Tony’s not the kind of person to put his own feelings on the line. For all his outward pomposity, on the inside, Tony’s a scared, insecure person. Steve should have remembered that. If there’s to be any chance of reconciliation between them, Steve’s going to have to initiate it, and he’s going to have to do better than writing a letter. A letter gives Tony too wide a margin to be evasive. No, Steve is going to have to talk to Tony in person.

Another text. This one is only a bunch of jumbled letters and words that are nearly incomprehensible, Tony clearly unable to coordinate his actions. Steve feels a fresh spurt of anger and shame as he realizes Tony is drunk. There goes years of hard-fought sobriety down the drain. Worse, Steve knows he’s partially to blame for Tony’s relapse. If only he’d told Tony about his parents’ deaths sooner. Maybe if he’d listened better. Maybe if he’d been able to let the past go. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Nat’s quiet voice cuts through the haze. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Go to him.”

“Yeah.”

\-----

It’s surprisingly easy to convince T’Challa to help him get stateside. Though Tony had made many positive changes to the Accords since the Avengers’ split, Steve and the rest of those who followed him are still outlaws. His return must be handled quietly and delicately, which is why, reluctantly, he goes to T’Challa. T’Challa is subject to the same international laws governing every nation, and if Ross were to find out he had harbored and abetted fugitives, who knows what would happen. Steve needs help but he doesn’t want more people to pay the price for his poor decisions. But Steve needs help, and he doesn’t have anybody else to turn to.

Steve fully expects to be turned down. Instead, T’Challa says he’s surprised it took Steve so long to ask. Apparently, he’d already made arrangements for Steve to return to America. Stunned, Steve thanks T’Challa gratuitously and leaves his presence feeling strangely humbled. Six hours later, he’s waving goodbye to the others as he steps onto T’Challa’s private jet.

Opposed to T’Challa’s easy acceptance, his friends had taken a lot more convincing. Scott had wondered if Tony might be trying to spring a trap on Steve, and worried that Steve would be greeted by Ross and an arrest warrant as soon as he entered the states. Steve had argued that isn’t really Tony’s style. Besides, he has no doubts that Tony already knows where they’re hiding—if Tony truly wanted them, Tony would have already come for them.

Sam and Wanda questioned if seeing Tony would be good for Steve, concerned it might lead to more arguing; they didn’t want to see him get hurt again. They had tried their best to stop him from going, but Steve had made up his mind and he wasn’t going to be talked out of it. Still, he’s touched by their concern.

Nat had said, “Try not to kill each other, this time. You’re both big boys; use your words, not your fists.”

“You gonna tell him that, too?” He asks.

Nat kisses him on the cheek and wishes him good luck.

Clint hadn’t said much, except to tell Steve to punch Tony then give him a hug for him. Steve promises to try.

Now, he’s on a plane back to America, on his way to see Tony, and he’s not sure how to feel. He’s both excited and scared. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen when he’s back in America. Surely he and Tony will fight again. Fight _a lot_. Steve is still holding on to the hurt from months ago, a bone-deep ache that sometimes burns like a repulsor beam blast to the chest. He’s sure Tony is nursing his own wounds, too, and he’s not looking forward to their first confrontation.

Still, he knows it’s something that needs to happen. He can’t keep running from Tony anymore, and he’s not going to let Tony hide from him, either. They’ll get through this, together. Together, they defeated the Chitauri, and together, they rid the world of Ultron’s influence. If they could do that, they can do this.

And if he must, he’ll tie Tony to a chair until he’s willing to see things his way.


	2. nothing left inside of my chest

The first time Steve broke Tony’s heart, it was just after they officially met. Howard had never shut up about Captain America, lauding his good qualities whenever he could, but especially when Tony was doing something wrong—and wasn’t Tony always doing something wrong? Anyway, Tony had grown up with a very specific picture of the man Steve Rogers was supposed to be.

That was not the man he met. The Steve Rogers Tony met was confused, dazed, and honestly, kind of an asshole. When he looked at Tony, it was with anger and disappointment in his eyes.

Tony is used to disappointing people but only after they’d gotten to know what a hot mess he actually is. He had barely said two words to Steve before the man was judging him, and admittedly, his quick disapproval had stung a bit. So, Tony got defensive, as he is wont to do. He pushed back, got mean, purposefully said things he knew would hurt. If he felt a little thrill of excitement and something that felt a lot like vindication when Steve fought back and was just as mean, well, that’s Tony’s problem.

He knew no man Howard had admired could be that saintly.

To his chagrin, Steve had grown into the image of that man Howard had always talked about. The more Tony got to know him, the more he understood: Steve is kind. Steve is good. Steve is _smart_. And he loves and protects fiercely. Even if you screw up, Steve is there to bail you out. Steve _cares_.

Or he _was_ all those things…until his best-brother-from-another-mother showed up and then, Tony became chopped liver. Steve did a total one-eighty and suddenly, Tony hardly knew the ma. Suddenly, he was reckless and selfish and a _goddamn hypocrite_.

“ _He’s my friend!_ ” _Steve pleaded._

“ _So was I,_ ” _Tony snarled, and he wasn’t crying, he_ wasn’t.

The second time Steve broke Tony’s heart, he’d literally _almost broke Tony’s heart_. He’d jammed the edge of his shield right into the suit’s arc reactor and the adrenaline rush of that plus the subsequent realization that Steve might have aimed first _for his throat_ before changing his mind at the last second had sent Tony into spiral, and T’Challa had all but dragged him to the doctor.

“Minor heart attack,” the doctors had said. “You’ll be fine," they had said. “Just avoid stressful situations.”

Ha. As _if_. Tony’s entire existence is a stressful situation.

It doesn’t help that every time Tony looks at the shield--the one Steve had left behind, the one Tony can’t quite bring himself to throw away-- he sees again pale light gleaming off a sharp edge as it comes down, fast, crushing his windpipe—no, worse, crushing the arc reactor, his chest cavity, his _heart_ , and he can feel the shrapnel finally worm its way into the walls of muscle and embed there and he can’t breathe, he _can’t breathe_ , and he’s alone in a cold wasteland, dying, choking on his own blood, a red so much brighter than the red of his mangled suit, and—

“Boss, your heart rate is currently approaching dangerous parameters. I believe it would be wise to call a doctor.”

FRIDAY’s crisp voice manages to cut through the haze and Tony takes a deep, steadying breath, releases it on a sigh and inhales again. Again. Again and again, until the dizziness subsides and he can think clearly.

“I’m okay,” he finally gasps out. “I’m okay, I’m fine, it’s alright; thank you, FRIDAY.”

“Sure thing, boss,” FRIDAY says. Then, almost hesitantly, “Should I…alert somebody?”

Tony smiles and shakes his head. “No,” he says, and if it sounds a little wistful, well. He’s just not used to being given the choice, he supposes. If JARVIS hadn’t—JARVIS would have already alerted everybody and by this time, Pepper or Rhodey or Bruce would be breaking down his door. Maybe Steve, too.

It’s not FRIDAY’s fault. She’s young still; she’ll learn. And besides, who would she call? Bruce is gone. Pepper is gone. And though Rhodey is here with him, he hasn’t fully recovered from his injuries and can’t run, anyway. And Steve is...

Tony is alone.

Still reeling a little from his panic attack and suddenly feeling a little claustrophobic, like he’s trapped in his own skin, Tony decides to call it. “Save the stuff,” he says vaguely, waving to the wreckage of his latest project.

FRIDAY acknowledges his request with a quiet, “Will do, boss.”

Tony goes to his suite of rooms in the compound and as soon as the doors open, he beelines for the mini-bar. He doesn’t even bother with the façade of a tumbler and ice, just makes a grab for the good whiskey and downs a few gulps before coming up for air.

“That’s good,” he says to himself and moves over to the bed, sets the crystal decanter down on the nightstand next to it with perhaps too much force, but already the whiskey has started to do its job and he’s beyond caring. He can afford a new one if it breaks.

“FRIDAY, play me something,” he says. “Country tonight; I’m feeling sorry for myself.”

As the music starts to play, Tony falls into the sheets with a soft _oomph_. He lands on something hard and plastic and reaches a hand underneath himself to take hold of it. It’s the burner phone Steve had sent him. Another relic he’s never been able to make himself get rid of.

Damn phone. It’s ancient, heavy, obsolete. Where had Steve even found it? As if Tony would ever use it. Even if he hadn’t promised himself to never talk to Steve again, he has standards! He could make something better than this with his eyes closed and one hand tied behind his back.

The audacity of Steve, to send him this fossil. Worse, he sent with it that stupid letter. Never has Tony read such self-serving, cliché bullshit.

Tony reaches for the decanter again and gulps a few more mouthfuls, doesn’t stop until his mind is cloudy and his body heavy and loose.

 _If you ever need us—if you ever need me, I’ll be there_.

How arrogant could a person be? As if he, Tony Stark, would ever need somebody like _Steve Rogers_. He doesn’t. He doesn’t need _anybody_. Tony can take care of himself, has for a long time.

He’s solid. He’s _good_. And he’s going to let Steve know that. He’s going to let Steve know he’ll never need him again.

He opens the phone, finds the only saved contact—Captain Spanglyass—and starts to type.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! If any of you ever want to chat, hit me up on my Tumblr: owltype.tumblr.com.
> 
> Mood music and chapter title: _All Alright_ by fun.
> 
> **Revisions made 05 July, 2017.**


	3. wish you were a stranger i could disengage

Tony is down in the lab at the compound, staring at the remains of his suit and wondering why he can’t bring himself to toss it out and build a new one. A better one.

He’s becoming a hoarder, suddenly unable to get rid of anything, keeping things even if they cause him pain. Maybe even  _because_ they cause him pain. He’s always been a masochistic person, after all. This could just be another way to punish himself for not being good enough,  _never_ being good enough, no matter how hard he tries.

He’s just so tired of trying, only to see his endeavors literally go up in smoke. There’s only so much disappointment a man can take and Tony’s entire life has been one big disappointment. He should have noped out a long time ago and become a hermit or something. Maybe he will, anyway. He could sell all his whatever to wherever and just disappear off the face of the earth. Maybe everybody would be better off if he did.

God, he needs another drink.

Tony turns away from the heap of metal. The motion makes him dizzy and he sways on his feet, bracing himself against a counter until he regains his balance.

“FRIDAY, why is the room spinning?” He mutters more to himself than the AI.

FRIDAY responds, anyway. “It has been exactly 28 hours since last you slept. In that time, you’ve consumed only two pieces of toast and one glass of water; however, your alcohol intake has-”

Tony winces. “Okay, okay,” he says, holding up his hands in a placating manner. “I’m going to go drink some water and eat something and then go to bed. Will that make you happy?”

The smug silence tells all. What has his life become, that he lets himself be cowed by a computer program? And one of his own creation, to boot.

Whatever. He’s too tired to care.

Knowing FRIDAY’s watchful eyes are following his every move, Tony leaves the lab and heads for the kitchen. He’s at the sink getting some water when a loud  _boom, boom, boom_ echoes through the compound. Startled, Tony drops the glass. Shards and water explode around him in an arc, soaking the bottoms of his sweatpants.

“Lovely,” he comments drily and steps over the mess. “FRIDAY?”

“Someone at the door, boss,” she says hesitantly, which is weird. Hadn’t he programmed her better? To be a take-charge kind of gal like Pepper is?

“At two in the morning? Who is it?”

“I don’t think you want to know,” she answers cagily.

“What? Why? Is it Ross? It’s Ross. Tell him-”

“It’s not Ross.” FRIDAY’s voice sounds strange. It’s quiet and dense like a storm cloud--and Tony is good, okay, but he’s not  _that_ good. Unless he’s drunker than he first thought? Drunk enough to imagine his AI suddenly knows how to feel things like anger.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Tony mutters as he moves towards the door. He pulls it open and is practically bowled over by the last person he ever wanted to see again.

“Sorry, Tony, sorry,” Steve babbles, grabbing Tony’s elbow to steady him.

Tony is momentarily struck dumb. It’s been six months without any contact between them, which is just fine with Tony. But there Steve is, standing right in front of him, flushed and sweaty and corporeal. His fair hair is a shade or two darker than normal and plastered to his forehead, and there’s a dusting of snow across his shoulders. His eyes, still as blue as Tony remembered but lacking the hate that was there the last time they met, are looking at Tony earnestly.

“What,” Tony starts but has to stop again, still not really comprehending what’s happening.

“Can I come in?” Steve asks. “It’s cold.”

Mutely, Tony steps aside and shuts the door behind Steve. The wind and snow stop swirling around his ankles and he’s left with nothing to distract him from the bulk of man dripping water on the floor.

“Steve,” Tony breathes and that acknowledgment must break some levy within because the anger wells up like a flood. “What the  _fuck_?”

The urge to punch Steve in his perfect teeth is strong. The urge to summon his suit is stronger but unfortunately, it’s a carcass right now and practically useless. Tony mentally kicks himself. How could he let this happen? How could he let his guard down so completely, make himself so vulnerable like this?

“What the fuck?” Tony asks again because it’s the only thing he can think to say at the moment.

Steve pulls a phone out of his pocket identical to the one he sent Tony. “You asked me to come,” he explains.

“No, I didn’t,” Tony scoffs. “Why would I do that?”

“You said you needed me,” Steve says but now his voice sounds unsure. “So, I came.”

Tony sputters. “I don’t  _need_ you, Rogers. I don’t even want to see you right now! Or ever. Now, go away,” Tony says, pointing at the door Steve had so recently walked through. He _knows_ he’s being childish but right now, he doesn’t care. At least he stopped himself from slamming the door in Steve’s face.

Even though Steve looks a little bit like a drowned puppy right now, that glint of determination is still in his eyes. “No, I won’t leave,” Steve says resolutely. “I came all this way, ran here in a snowstorm and-”

“Wait,” Tony says, holding up his hands to stop Steve’s flow of words. “Did you say you  _ran_ all the way here? From _where_?”

Steve shrugs. “That’s private. I ran here because I didn’t want to risk renting a vehicle.” He looks sheepish, now, embarrassed even. Like he’s suddenly realized how ridiculous it is to run hundreds of miles _in_   _a fucking snowstorm_. “Admittedly not one of my better ideas.”

“You haven’t had many of those lately,” Tony comments but without any real heat. Standing there, looking at Steve and the pathetic, sloppy image of him is just making Tony feel sad. And cold. And Tony just can’t right now, just physically and mentally  _cannot_. He  _wants_ to yell at Steve, wants to rant and rave and  _wound_ , whether with his words or his fists. But Steve is soaked to the bone and even super soldiers need to stay warm and damn it, Tony just  _does not care_  right now.

He’ll fight Steve in the morning.

“FRIDAY,” Tony sighs, “please start a pot of coffee for Capsicle.”

FRIDAY doesn’t say anything but Tony can hear appliances beginning to hum. At least she’s being cooperative.

To Steve, Tony says, “I’m going to bed.”

Tony turns heel and walks away, admittedly a little surprised when Steve doesn’t follow him. When he turns the corner, and can no longer feel Steve’s gaze burning a hole in his back, Tony fishes the burner phone out of his pocket and shakes it open to check his outgoing messages.

Damn. He should have known.

“I’m never drinking again,” Tony groans.

“Sure, boss,” FRIDAY says, and Tony knows he’s not imagining things this time: FRIDAY has judgmental down pat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Revisions made 05 July, 2017.**
> 
> Mood music and chapter title: _Over My Head_ by The Fray.


	4. oily marks appear on walls where pleasure moments hung before

Steve watches Tony leave, resisting the urge to follow him. He's not a man to back down from a challenge, but he knows when to take a strategic retreat. Tony wouldn't be receptive to anything he has to say right now. Steve figures it would be better to let Tony rest and process things before trying to confront him.

Besides, he's not entirely ready to confront Tony, either. Seeing the man again for the first time in six months affected Steve more than he thought it would. He'd been aware Tony was struggling--Natasha gave him updates whenever she could. Apparently, though, she'd been leaving a few key details out, like the fact that Tony had lost a lot of weight. Nor had she mentioned the haunted look in Tony’s eyes that made him look somehow older and younger at the same time.

When Tony disappears around the corner, Steve sweeps his eyes around the compound, taking in the void of life and laughter in a place that was once teeming. To Steve, neither the Tower nor the compound had ever felt like a true home--the _Avengers_ were home. They were the only home Steve had known in this century where so many things he once held dear are now lost. Even Bucky is changed; Steve barely recognizes the man. When Bucky had been found alive, Steve had hoped but...well, it was to be expected, really. You don't go through what Bucky did and come out the other side as the same person.

Now, he'd lost the Avengers, too. And can he really continue to blame Tony for it? Can he really say anymore that he was doing the right thing? He's not so sure. The rock he had once stood on now seems to be crumbling beneath his feet.

FRIDAY's voice cuts through his muddled thoughts. "Your coffee is getting cold."

Steve doubts anything could be colder than FRIDAY's voice. Her animosity stings a little. Though FRIDAY is not as verbose and lively as JARVIS was, he and FRIDAY had always got on well. She was easy to talk to, she never made him feel like he was being laughed at for not understanding things about this century, and her presence was a comfort on dark, lonely nights.

But he gets it. He had hurt Tony grievously. He should just be thankful she hadn't set the bots on him.

"Thank you, FRIDAY," he says.

He moves into the kitchen and his boots crunch on glass. Without even thinking about it, he grabs a broom and dustpan and sweeps up the mess, dumping it into the trashcan on his way to the coffee-maker. This mundane task helps him feel more at ease here and some of the tension in his shoulders dissipates. He grabs a mug from the cupboard, one of those cute ones with the witty quotes Wanda had favored--this one says No Fox Given--and pours himself some, wrapping his chilled fingers around it for warmth. He inhales the rich aroma first before downing the mug in one gulp.

He drinks two more before the chilled feelings goes away, but he's still in his wet clothes. He wants to shower and change and sleep. Not even thinking about it, he moves towards the hallway his bedroom lies down then comes to an abrupt stop. He has to remember that things have changed, that by now Tony has probably refurbished his room for some other purpose.

"FRIDAY," he calls out quietly, hesitatingly. "Where should I-"

"Your room is untouched," she says grudgingly.

Steve is stunned, but he tries not to read too much into it. It's likely Tony just got too wrapped up in something else and forgot about it. Still, it's best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He's thankful he doesn't have to bunk down on the couch or something. He's slept in worse places but to his shame, he's grown accustomed to modern comforts and prefers his sleeping spaces to be big and soft.

He steps into his room and is immediately washed in a soft, yellow light.

"You're a peach," he tells FRIDAY warmly.

"I must inform you, Captain, that women often aren't impressed by such words," she says succinctly.

 _It's sexist_ he translates and acknowledges her with a nod toward the ceiling. Without her and JARVIS, he never would have made it this far in this century.

Steve strips off his sodden clothes on the way to the bathroom, and he can hear the bots whirring behind him as they pick them up. The shower is already on and warm, and Steve steps into the soothing spray with a sigh of relief. He washes quickly, eager to get to bed. He steps out, dries himself cursorily, pulls on some briefs, collapses into bed, and falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

\-----

He dreams of Siberia.

It’s dark. Cold. The snow and ice sting his face, hands, the back of his neck.

It’s not as cold or harsh as the look Tony gives him. That more than anything reminds him of going under, and he feels again the water well up around him and into his lungs.

He’s drowning. In water, in shame, in guilt—it doesn’t matter. In the end, it’s just a testament to how strong he _isn’t_.

What’s super strength if you can’t even use it to protect your loved ones? Does he even deserve it if he uses it _against_ his loved ones?

Tony’s looking up at him from the ground. He’s wrecked, bruised, and the arc reactor is dying in a spark of blue light. Tony’s looking at him with dark, cold eyes, full of fury. Full of _hate_. Of hurt.

He can’t breathe. The water, the shame, the _guilt_ is stuck in his throat, in his lungs, and he can’t breathe past it, his vision turning black and is this it? Is this the way to kill a super-soldier?

He tries to call out for help but no one answers. He’s alone, so alone. Peggy and Howard are out of reach. Bucky is dead. No. Bucky is alive? Bucky is…

Cold. Everything is so cold.

He can’t _breathe_.

\-----

Steve jerks awake in a tangle of blankets, gasping for air.

“Captain Rogers,” a crisp voice calls out. He knows that voice: FRIDAY. “Steve. You are in the compound. It’s seven o’clock in the morning on December 4th, 2016. The weather outside is 23 degrees Fahrenheit; it is still snowing. You are okay, Steve. You are safe.”

Steve scrubs a hand across his face, wiping at the moisture there. He’s been crying. “FRIDAY,” he whispers, overwhelmed with emotion. Her interference means Tony hadn’t wiped her protocols regarding the Avengers. Steve tries not to engage himself in false hopes, but that more than anything makes him feel like maybe, just _maybe_ there’s a chance the Avengers can reconcile. That he and Tony can reconcile. Because if Tony didn’t care, if he was truly apathetic about them, about _him_ , he wouldn’t have bothered to keep their biometrics in the system.

FRIDAY is still talking, her soothing voice washing over him and calming his frayed nerves. He thanks her wholeheartedly and lets her know he’s fine. She stops talking and he’s left alone. He takes a steadying breath and sits up, turning his face towards the window to look at the pale morning light. It’s beautiful outside, the entire forest around them blanketed in white.

Steve suppresses a shudder, mind again flashing to things better left in the past. He breathes through it, wills the images to fade from his mind like smoke. It’s unfortunate, really; he’d always liked winter, though the winters of his youth had never been this pristine. Winter in the city was dirty and bleak, but up here, away from the grime of the city, you could truly appreciate its beauty.

Now all Steve can think about is cold.

With a heavy sigh, Steve stands up from the bed. Obviously, he’s not going to be able to fall back to sleep. He doesn’t need as much as a normal person would, but he still can feel the toll the flight then his run through the snow had taken on his body. He should have just stayed at the tower until it passed, but he hadn’t been thinking clearly at the time. He’d just wanted to see Tony.

 _Tony_. Steve bursts into action, grabbing sweats and an old shirt from the closet and slipping into them as he moves from the room. The engineer is nowhere to be seen in the Commons area, which isn’t a surprise, really. He’s probably in his own suite of rooms or down in the shop. Steve would ask FRIDAY, but he knows her goodwill won’t extend so far. She’d probably just tell him to go to hell in her own special way.

Steve tries the workshop first. Knowing Tony, the engineer was probably awake an hour or two before him, maybe even more. Tony had always kept odd hours; indeed, he seemed to never sleep. Steve wonders how he functions, if in fact Tony _is_ some kind of android and had fooled them all into believing otherwise.

Weirder things had happened.

Tony’s workshop is black but Steve knows better. Just barely he can hear the sounds of tinkering filtering past the reinforced metal. Super-hearing had always been one of his favorite perks of the serum.

If the view is black, that means Tony is in lockdown. Which means Tony knew Steve would come looking for him. Which means Tony doesn’t _want_ to see Steve and had probably holed himself in there with enough supplies to last a nuclear winter.

Tony is hoping if he stays locked up long enough, Steve would give up and leave.

Tony should know better than that.

Steve approaches the door and feels a warning buzz of electricity humming in the air. So Tony wants to play it like that, does he? Other people would be deterred, but not Steve. He still has some tricks up his sleeve.

“FRIDAY, override code Centauri-7-4-Alpha-1-8.”

The door slides open with a hiss and Steve slips inside and is immediately met with a wall of sound. Tony’s blasting music even louder than he usually does. Steve shakes his head in fond amusement; how does Tony ever get anything done with so much _noise_?

Something nudges his leg and Steve reaches down to give DUM-E a pat. The robot chirps happily then zooms off towards the back of the shop, knocking over a table full of circuit boards and a soldering iron as he does.

“DUM-E!” Tony yells, brandishing a wrench in the direction the bot went. “I will sell you to the university!”

“That’s not very nice,” Steve calls out.

Everything stops. The bots, the music, Tony himself. The silence rings louder in Steve’s ears than the music did, and he suddenly realizes what a bad idea this was. There are a million things in this room Tony could try to kill him with.

Tony slowly turns to face him. His expression is closed off but Steve can read the tension in the rigid line of his shoulders, can see the anxiety in the shaking of hands normally steady as rocks.

“FRIDAY?” Tony asks through clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry, boss. That is one code you probably _should_ have deleted,” she says.

“Damn it all to hell,” Tony mutters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood music and chapter title: _Hide & Seek_ by Imogen Heap.
> 
> Yes, Steve's override code is his initials CA and his birthdate. Because I am witty like that.
> 
> **Revisions made 20 May, 2017.**


	5. the moment i said it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood music and chapter title: _The Moment I Said It_ by Imogen Heap.
> 
>  
> 
> **Revisions made 06 July, 2017.**

Tony gawks at Steve, unable to believe the man’s gall. How dare Steve just barge in like this? How dare he push his way through every barrier, ignore every sign Tony wants nothing to do with him, and invade Tony’s space? The worst part is, Steve is looking at him with that sheepish smile as if it’ll fix anything; it won’t. If anything, seeing it makes Tony angrier.

“Ever heard of knocking?” Tony’s doctor would be so proud of him right now. He’d told Tony he had to manage his anger better, to try to keep his blood pressure down. Tony thinks he deserves a medal for managing to remain so calm when what he really wants to do is wipe that goddamn smile off Steve’s face.

“Would you have answered if I had?” Steve asks.

“Probably not,” Tony admits. “Most people would take the hint and get lost.”

“Please, Tony.” Steve steps forward, his gaze searching Tony’s earnestly, his hands held out in supplication.

Tony watches him come, wary, cataloging every twitch of Steve’s muscles like prey watching a predator prowling through the brush. Almost unconsciously, he scans the room for the quickest escape route, and his hands clench around the tool in his grasp. Without his suit, he won’t be much good against Steve’s power and stamina, but if he can wound him enough to get away…

Steve stops. He’s looking at Tony with a strange expression on his face, his eyes filled with something like shame and regret. “I’m not going to hurt you, Tony,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tony’s gaze snaps back to Steve’s. “What’s stopping you this time?”

Steve reels back as if Tony’s words had physically impacted him. “That’s not-”

“Were you going to say  _fair_ , Rogers?” Tony sneers.

“ _You_ attacked  _us_ first.” Steve’s voice is tight; he’s clearly trying hard to stay in control. “You tried to kill Bucky! You-”

“HE KILLED MY PARENTS!” The words ring in the silence of the workshop. Steve’s smile is gone and now, he’s looking at Tony like he’s scum on the bottom of his shoe. Inside, Tony is crowing in victory. It had almost been too easy, really, to crack Steve’s shiny veneer.

“He killed my parents,” Tony repeats, softly this time. “And you knew.”

Steve’s gaze drops to the floor. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I wish I had told you, Tony, I wish-”

“Wishes are for children,” Tony spits out. The anger simmering in his veins has come to a boil. He steps closer to Steve, crowding him back against a counter. “You’re always so sanctimonious toward everyone else, always have some judgment to pass. But what about you, Rogers?” Tony asks softly. “What about your own character flaws?”

“Tony,” Steve pleads. “Don’t.”

Tony smiles and it’s an ugly, twisted thing that pulls sharply at his chapped lips. “No comment? Well, let me help you: you’re a goddamn hypocrite, Rogers. And I was wrong about you. The  _world_ was wrong about you. They should have left you on ice.”

Tony had expected Steve to react, to lash out with his words or his fists,  _something_. Tony wanted that, would have  _preferred_ that. But Steve does nothing, just stares down at him with a dead, haunted look in his eyes. And as Tony watches, there’s an awful moment where Steve’s eyes cloud over. Tony’s afraid he’s going to have to watch Steve break down right in front of him. But Steve turns away from him before the tears can fall and walks away, leaving Tony alone in silence.

“Good riddance,” Tony calls out to Steve’s retreating back. Once Steve is out of sight, Tony leans back against his workbench. He takes a deep, steadying breath and holds it for a few counts before exhaling. His body is still singing with adrenaline and he feels a little woozy.

He better not be having another heart attack. “FRIDAY, read vitals.”

“Blood pressure is slightly elevated, boss,” she says.

“Yeah, well,” Tony says with a shrug. “That’s typical when dealing with Captain Asshole.”

“May I offer my criticism?” FRIDAY asks.

“May as well,” he mumbles.

“That was not your best moment, boss.” FRIDAY’s voice is crisp with disapproval.

Tony deflates, the self-righteous anger that had sustained him now starting to dissipate. She’s right, of course. In the wake of Steve’s absence and now that he is starting to come down from his adrenaline high, Tony doesn’t feel as victorious as he thought he would. The echo of his harsh words are battering against his eardrums, and other than the last tendrils of anger seeping away like water down a drain, the only thing he feels now is…guilt.

But Steve doesn’t deserve his guilt. Steve doesn’t deserve a damn thing from him. He lost his right to all of that when he betrayed Tony.

“Don’t tell me you’re on  _his_  side,” Tony asks. He tries not to let show how much that bothers him. “I’d have to sell you to the government then.”

FRIDAY stays silent, which Tony tries not to read into too much. It isn’t her saying yes, but it’s a definite sign of her disappointment. Theirs wouldn’t be a real relationship if he didn’t disappoint even her at least once.

What a fucking mess.

He turns back to the project he’d been working on before Steve interrupted and picks up his hammer. He batters it against the sheet of unshaped metal, working out the dents and beginning to mold it into a new form. He lets his anger drive the force of his swings, hits the metal hard enough that the shock of it reverberates down his spine.

There’s nothing like manual labor to help him ease some frustration.

He doesn’t resurface again for a while. When he does, his back is sore, his arm is numb from the shoulder down, and his fingers are stiff and callused. He stretches his arms above his head and his back pops alarmingly, and he groans as tense muscles begin to unknot. “I’m getting too old for these benders,” he mutters. There was a time he could spend days down in the lab without suffering any adverse effects. Now, he’s definitely starting to feel his age.

Tony shakes off those thoughts. If he lets himself think about his own mortality, he may as well kiss whatever sanity he has left goodbye. Disgusted with himself, he walks towards a small cupboard tucked in the corner and pulls from it a clean towel, and uses it to mop up most of the sweat and grease from his arms and face. DUM-E takes it from him and trades it for a glass of water that is, surprisingly, void of oil or any other suspicious liquids. Tony gulps it down with relish and gives the glass back to DUM-E once he’s done.

He leaves the shop, destined for the kitchen to have a quick meal before he heads to his suite for a shower and sleep. On his way, he passes by the training room and pauses to listen. There’s a strange sound like flesh hitting vinyl coming from beyond the door. Steve must be in there.

Again, the echo of his harsh words plays through his mind, and he recalls the image of Steve standing in front of him, his body still as marble but for his quivering lips and the tremble of his eyelashes as he tried to stave off tears.

Tony slams his palm into the wall.  _Goddamn it._ Steve showing up here had really thrown a wrench in his plans to stay bitter and angry forever. “FRIDAY, how long has he been in there?”

“Six hours, sir,” she responds.

“ _Six hours_?!” He repeats incredulously. “Christ, Rogers.”

Tony pushes through the door to the gym. Steve is in the far corner, facing away from Tony. He’s going at the punching bag like the thing had personally offended him, his arms a blur as he punches with more force and speed than Tony has seen him use in a long time. Even if FRIDAY hadn’t already confirmed it, just looking at Steve and the mess around him is a testament to how long Steve had been at it. There is a line of broken bags in front of Steve, and there’s sand everywhere.

“Rogers, stop” Tony calls out. Steve doesn’t or won’t hear him, just keeps pummeling the bag with a ferocity that is starting to scare Tony. He steps further into the room, walking slowly so as not to spook Steve. The last thing he wants is to have that rage focused on him…again. He barely made it out alive the first time, and that was when he was in the suit.

A trickle of red drips from Steve’s hand down to the floor and in an instant, Tony forgets his reservations.

“Steve,  _stop_ ,” Tony pleads, rushing forward. He gets alongside Steve and grabs Steve’s fist. The forward momentum of Steve’s swing pulls him with it, making him stumble, and he almost falls to the floor but before he makes impact, strong arms catch him around the waist and pull him up.

“What the hell, Tony?! I could have really hurt you!”

“Please,” Tony scoffs. “I’m made out of iron, not china.” Tony meant it as a joke, as something to diffuse the tension a little, but Steve doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even react. Tony feels a little put out, and since he’s never learned to leave well enough alone, he decides to keep poking the bear and adds, “I’ve survived worse.”

Steve’s upper lip curls in disgust. He pushes Tony away from him and walks towards the bench where he’d dropped his gym bag. He grabs a bottle of water and guzzles a good half of it then pours the rest over his hair, shaking his head like a dog to get rid of the extra drops. Tony watches this like he would watch a scene in a movie: as if it’s happening in front of him but somehow, it doesn’t quite feel like real life.

Once there was a time when he would have laughed at Steve. Once, he would have offered Steve a towel and quipped about water on the floor and ask if he was running a bed and breakfast for hooligans.

Now, he just feels sad and lost and angry.

So much has changed.

Steve looks at Tony, his gaze intent. The magnetic blue of his eyes pierces through Tony and his breath staggers a little.

“That’s what happens, Tony, when you turn your back on your friends,” Steve says quietly.

Oh, he had said that out loud. Damn it. “You turned your back on us first,” Tony says just to save face, but there’s no real heat to his words. At this point, he almost feels like he’s following a script, that this conversation, like so many of theirs beforehand, had been over before it ever really began and they were just going through the motions.

Steve must decide not to dignify Tony’s jibe with a response. Maybe he’s tired, too. “Why are you here, Tony?”

Tony refuses to admit he had been worried about Steve. To do so would show weakness. “I didn’t want FRIDAY alerting me in the middle of the night that you had collapsed.”

Steve shrugs miserably. “Why not? You could’ve put me back on ice and then everybody would’ve been happy.”

Yeah, Tony has no good response to that. A sullen, melancholy Steve Rogers is not one he's prepared to deal with. So, instead of making things worse, for once he decides to say nothing, just stares at Steve for a moment longer, taking in his wearied demeanor as the regret fully sinks in, then turns tail and walks away.

Yeah, _definitely_ not one of his finer moments.


	6. the borders we drew between us keep the weapons down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I have no excuses for why this took so long to write, or why it's such a short chapter. More action in the next, I promise.
> 
> **Revisions made 06 July, 2017.**

Steve stands at the edge of the forest surrounding the compound, staring idly at the stars. They’re so much brighter here than in New York City, where only the brightest stars can feebly shine through the smog. Still, the beauty of this night has nothing on the ones he remembers from his army days, when the skies were so dark he could see entire galaxies swirling above his head.

He stands with his back to the Avengers facility, its presence like a specter dogging his footsteps. Above him and to his left, Orion looks down on him mockingly, his bow pointed at Steve in judgment. The greatest hunter in the world, his only weakness being the arrogance that eventually brought forth his downfall. How fitting.

Steve had come outside for some fresh air, hoping it would help to clear his mind. Unfortunately, it seems wherever he goes, his guilt follows him. He wonders if he’ll ever be rid of it.

He’s been back at the compound now for two weeks and he’s no closer to a breakthrough with Tony than he was when he first arrived. Since those rocky first couple of days, Tony has gone out of his way to avoid Steve and been quite successful at it, too. Steve honestly can’t be sure Tony is even still at the compound but has resisted the urge to look for him. Steve had hoped that this show of willingness to respect Tony’s boundaries would draw the other man out of his shell but so far, he’d had no success on that front.

Not for the first time, Steve wonders what he’s even doing here. He’d been confident that coming back had been the right thing to do. Now, he’s not so sure. Maybe he’d been naïve to think anything would change and had just set himself up for disappointment. Though he’d missed Tony and wanted a chance to make things right, he had begun to slowly heal while he was in Wakanda. He was learning how to live with the pain. Seeing Tony again had ripped open old wounds and caused him—caused them both—to relive painful events all over again. Now, Steve wonders if maybe he hadn’t made the wrong decision. Perhaps things had been better as they were, with Tony in New York and Steve in Wakanda: separated by thousands of miles and unable to hurt each other.

Also, if Steve is being honest with himself, he has to wonder if all of this is even worth it. He’s a patient guy but being constantly pushed away is getting old. At this rate, it’s looking futile. If Tony truly doesn’t want to make nice then perhaps Steve should just give up the ghost and go back to Wakanda. There, at least, he’d be amongst friends. It would hurt not to have Tony in his life. He’d come to depend on Tony and his absence had been like a gaping wound Steve had no tourniquet for. Still, he’d managed once without Tony, and he could figure out a way to do it again.

Steve’s phone goes off in his pocket, the special ringtone he’d chosen for Nat echoing through the trees. Her timing is, as always, impeccable. Steve’s not in the mood to talk to anyone right now but he knows better than to ignore Nat. He digs the phone out of his pocket, accepts the call with a swipe of his thumb, and brings the phone to his ear.

He greets Nat with a weary sigh and a preemptive, “Things are shit.”

Nat chuckles, her breath a tickle against Steve’s ear, and he feels himself relax marginally. “What did Tony say?”

“A lot,” Steve grumbles, hoping Nat infers from his tone that none of it was good. “Then…nothing. He’s completely shut me out.”

“Did you expect anything else?” He can hear the unspoken albeit fond _you dunce_ in her tone. “That he’d welcome you back with open arms?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know. I just thought…” he trails off. What _had_ he thought? He had spent a lot of time imaging scenarios about what would happen when they met again. In most of them, Tony had been hurt and suspicious but had ultimately come around. Tony was generally a reasonable person, capable of seeing both sides of an argument and adjusting his opinions accordingly. Steve honestly hadn’t expected the level of hostility Tony had thrown his way, though perhaps that had also been naïve of him. He knew very well that Tony was capable of being petty and vindictive—their first meeting and any confrontation they had after that was proof enough that Tony wasn’t always a magnanimous person, at least not when Steve was concerned.

Steve, for perhaps the first time in his life, feels at a loss. He has no plan of action, doesn’t know where he is supposed to go from here, or if he should even continue trying.

“Maybe I should just go back to Wakanda,” Steve says quietly.

“Steven Grant Rogers, are you giving up?” Natasha asks. Steve is surprised by the anger in her tone. “It’s so unlike you. I have to say, I’m disappointed.”

“Wow, I’m honestly feeling _so_ attacked right now. First Tony, now you.”

“You’ve been spending too much time on the Internet again,” she teases.

“Well, it’s not like I can go Avenging,” he says, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“You will again, someday. But first, you have to make up with Tony.”

“I tried to, Nat, but-”

“Bullshit,” Natasha says harshly. The uncommon use of profanity stops Steve’s tirade in his tracks. Natasha never swears, not out of a sense of propriety but because she doesn’t _need_ to. That she did makes Steve straighten up and really _listen_. “One attempt to fix things does not an armistice make. If you really want it, if Tony is truly worth it to you, you will keep trying until you get it right.”

“What if I never do get it right, Nat? What if Tony doesn’t want to-”

“He hasn’t thrown you out on your ass, has he?”

“No, he’s-”

“He hasn’t set the bots on you, has he?”

“Well, no, but-”

“FRIDAY still lets you have access to the hot water, right?”

“She’s been lovely!” Steve assures Nat in a loud voice. He doesn’t think FRIDAY is listening right now, not all the way out here, but one can never be sure when it comes to Tony’s tech. Better to be safe than sorry.

“Then Tony _does_ want it. He just doesn’t _know_ he wants it. Not yet. It’s your job to show him.”

Warmth spreads through Steve’s chest. Seriously, what would he do without her? “You’re the best, Nat.”

“I know,” she says, her voice smug.

\-----

The problem remains: Steve still doesn’t know where to begin. Nat had given him back his will to fight, but she hadn’t been able to help him formulate a plan. He’s disappointed. In the time he’s known her, she’d always seemed to have the answers, and he’d come to trust her judgment. Actually, he’d come to depend on it. Now, though, she’s as much at a loss as he is.

Steve feels helpless and alone. He could call Pepper or Colonel Rhodes and ask for their help, but he knows he probably wouldn’t be received well. Rhodes had been one of the staunchest supporters of the Accords. He’d also been one of the loudest voices speaking out against Steve and his renegade band. And Pepper? Steve isn’t sure what she thinks about the Accords but he knows how protective of Tony she is.

How protective of Tony they both are.

No, he can’t imagine he’d garner much support from them. He’s on his own.

“Steve.” FRIDAY’s voice cuts through his reverie. “Mr. Stark requires your assistance.”

Steve responds viscerally to the brusqueness in FRIDAY’s voice: this is not a social call, but a call for help, he’s sure of it. His gut clenches with trepidation and he starts to run, kicking up snow around him in a cloud as he practically flies back to the compound.

“Where is he?”

“In his bedroom suite.”

Steve barely stops long enough to let FRIDAY open the entrance for him then he’s careening down the hallways towards Tony’s room, hoping fervently that whatever the emergency is, he’s not already too late.


	7. the wounds we make

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know, anymore. I've read this chapter so many times tonight, my eyes are glazing over. I leave it now in your hands. I'll come back tomorrow and make sure I didn't fuck up completely. XD
> 
> Mood music and chapter title: _Tokyo_ by Nell.

"Have you been drinking?" Rhodey asks in such a way that Tony can  _feel_ the weight of his disappointment like chains around his neck.

Tony glances down at the bottle of whiskey clutched in his fist. "What can I say? You know me so well."

Rhodey's sigh is a gust of wind against his ear. He sounds sad. "Do I need to come home?"

"No. Fuck, no." Tony feels sick. His guilt and regret taste like bile in the back of his throat. "Please don't fly back for my sake."

"I worry about you, Tony."

"Don't. I'm o-"

"If you say you're okay, I won't fly back for your health, but to kick your ass," Rhodey growls.

Tony huffs a laugh. "With the exoskeleton I made you? That's low, Rhodes."

"You might deserve it," Rhodey says. "Someone has to keep you in line."

"And you do such a good job of it, honey."

Rhodey chuckles out a laugh of his own, though he quickly sobers up again. "Seriously, Tony. How are you?"

Tony shrugs miserably. "Fuck if I know. I can barely see straight."

"Damn it, Tony. I hate that you're letting him get to you again."

Tony tries not to cry. He's drunk but he still has his dignity. "Me, too."

Rhodey's voice is steel. "He doesn't deserve your hospitality. You owe him nothing."

"I know."

"He  _hurt_ you, Tony."

There’s an ache in Tony’s sternum, the ghost of an old injury come back to haunt him. "I know."

"You should tell him to leave." Rhodey's nearly pleading with him at this point.

"I should."

Rhodey sighs again, this time in resignation. "But you won't."

"I can't," Tony whispers.

"I know," Rhodey says gently. "I'll be home in a few days. We can figure it out then."

Tony loves this man so much. Rhodey is so good and Tony's a hot mess that always needs to be saved from himself. Yet, for some reason, Rhodey has stood by him all these years. Tony doesn't deserve him but never could he live without him. "What would I do without you?"

"May the world never find out. Get some sleep, Tony."

Tony ends the call and drops his phone on the nightstand. Tony considers dropping the whiskey, too, but his fingers seem glued to the glass. He'd called Rhodey for some clarity of mind but had wound up feeling worse, which makes him want to drink more.

He had never meant for Rhodey to find out he’d started drinking again. Since that disastrous night years ago, after he'd made a fool of himself when the irony that the only thing keeping him alive was slowly killing him had become too much to handle--seriously, what is his life?--he'd tried to do better. He'd done good, too, managing to limit his alcohol intake to a few beers with dinner while the good whiskey stayed locked away in a cabinet for special occasions.

Then Ultron had happened. He'd spiraled out of control, a "few beers" becoming too many and the good whiskey suddenly a free-for-all. Tony can't remember much from that time, only that about a month after the battle, Steve had found him down in the shop, passed out in a puddle of his own vomit.

Steve had been so sad. Pepper and Rhodey had been disappointed. At their behest, Tony had agreed to go to Alcoholics Anonymous, if only to get them off his case. It had been a rough struggle, but with everybody's support, Tony had won the sobriety battle, and he’d never touched another drop of alcohol.

Then the Accords happened. Then the return of James Buchanan Barnes. Then and then and then...and Tony hadn't been able to stop himself, anymore. A tree can only bend so far before it breaks.

Tony scoffs. What pathetic excuses. What would Pepper say if she could see him now? Tony hopes Rhodey doesn't tell her. He can't bear to cause her more pain. What a complete shit he is, to continually do this to his friends. He doesn't deserve them.

Before Tony is fully aware of what he's doing, he's thrown the bottle of whiskey against the opposite wall. Glass and dark amber liquid spray around him in an arc, falling in his hair and soaking his clothes. Tony strips his shirt off disgustedly and walks over to the hamper to toss it in.

He passes the window and movement outside catches his attention. Steve hovers at the edge of the forest surrounding the compound, his back to the window. Tony can't see his face but he can tell by the tense line of Steve's shoulders and the way his hands clench and unclench rhythmically that Steve is bothered by something.

 _Good_ , Tony thinks savagely.

Why  _hasn't_ he thrown Steve out? He ought to. Keeping him around goes against every one of his doctor's orders to reduce his stress levels. The very sight of Steve strutting through the compound keeps Tony's blood pressure in that sweet spot between too-high and my-heart-is-going-to-explode.

As Tony watches Steve, an inferno grows inside of him, the heat of alcohol in his bloodstream replaced by the burn of anger. The audacity of Steve, to come here, to barge back into Tony's life after he so violently left it--left  _him_. Bruised and broken on the cold, cement floor of an old bunker. If T'Challa hadn't been there to pull him from the wreckage of his own suit, Tony's not positive he would be alive today.

Of all the atrocities Steve had committed, of all the times he hadn't trusted Tony, had stabbed him in the back, had  _lied to him_ \--that's the thing that hurt the most. Hurts still. When Tony closes his eyes, he still sees the blood stains, can still feel the snowflakes melting on his cheeks. He had huddled there for what felt like hours, wondering if he'd ever make it home, or if he was to die there in Siberia, alone.

There's a buzzing in his temples like a colony of bees had taken up residence there. The world around him is fading out until the only thing he can see is Steve awash in starlight.

And damn him for being so beautiful, because that's the rub, isn't it? He can't turn Steve out now because once, he'd have given his fortune to have Steve close. A small part of him is still holding onto what  _might have been_  if they'd only had the chance. If they hadn't destroyed each other, first.

Tony is used to losing people but he'd thought Steve would be different. In the end, Steve had hurt him the most. He'd left without so much as a by-your-leave, abandoning Tony to death. Tony had thought he'd never see Steve again; the man had clearly made his choice.

So, why did Steve come back?

Steve is facing the window now and Tony's forced to watch the play of emotions across his face. He's on the phone with someone and whatever they're saying, it's making Steve smile. Tony can only imagine who he's talking to. Is it Wanda? Is it Sam? Maybe they're laughing at him, talking about how pathetic Tony is, how the mighty Iron Man has been brought so low as to hide away in his cave like a madman. Maybe he's talking to James. Maybe they're reminiscing about the golden oldies. Maybe James is asking Steve why he'd ever bothered with Tony Stark again. He’d come back, hadn’t he? They could be the dream team again. Steve doesn’t need Tony.

Tony gets a glimpse of his image imposed over Steve's. He looks haggard, sick, with sunken eyes, ashen skin, and limp hair. They had done this to him. Steve had done this to him.

Tony drives his fist into the glass, shattering his grim image and Steve's into a hundred jagged shards. The glass cuts into the skin of his forearm, one large shard digging painfully into his cubital fossa. Tony hisses and pulls his arm back against his chest. He clamps his other hand over the wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood but it's coming too fast, oozing between his fingers and staining his skin.

"Shit. FRIDAY?"

"Boss?"

He's already starting to feel a little woozy. It's not a life-threatening injury--frankly, he'd gotten lucky. A little deeper and a few centimeters over and he'd have cut the brachial artery, and then he'd be a dead man--but serious enough. "I need-"

"Alerting Captain Rogers. ETA two minutes."

Tony thumps to the floor beneath the ruined window and waits for Steve, continuing to apply as much pressure to the wound as he can in the interim. It hurts, the pain cutting through the haze in his brain some and he realizes just how big of an idiot he is.

Tony can hear Steve coming a mile away, the fall of his footsteps like thunder in the distance. Tony doesn't even have the chance to ask FRIDAY to open the door; Steve barrels through it in a shower of wood splinters, adding to the mess already on the floor. Steve looks around him and catalogs the damage, eyes zeroing in on Tony crumpled on the floor. He's at his side in an instant.

"Tony, what--my  _God_ , what happened?"

"Don't ask questions," Tony snaps. "I need the watch off my nightstand."

Steve tugs on Tony's arm, trying to get him to stand. "No, Tony, I'm taking you to-"

"Damn it, Rogers, listen to me! Get my watch or get out."

Steve’s jaw clenches and he doesn’t look at all happy, but he does as Tony asks. "Now what?"

"Put it on. Press that button, there. Okay, good. Now aim the laser…here."

When the laser is charged, Tony removes the hand that's staunching the blood, happy to note the wound is already clotting. He steels his courage and takes a deep, steadying breath. "Okay, do it...now."

It hurts like a bitch. Tony cries out and Steve reaches for him with his free hand, which Tony takes with his bloodied one and squeezes tightly. In a matter of seconds but what feels like hours to Tony, it’s finally over. He collapses against Steve, trying to regulate his breathing and waiting for his heart rate to even out.

His doctors are going to hate him so much.

The dizziness finally passes and when Tony can think clearly again, he remembers where he is and who he's leaning against, and jerks away from Steve. Tony turns away from him so he doesn't have to see the hurt look on his face.

"Thanks, Rogers." The words stick in his throat like honey. "You're no longer needed."

"Tony." Steve comes up behind him. Every shift of muscle that brings him closer makes Tony's clench tighter. Steve puts a hand on his shoulder which Tony shrugs off. Steve does not replace it. "Please, Tony. Can't we talk?"

Tony is so sick of this song and dance. He’s tried so hard to keep his temper, to put space between him and Steve, to not engage in another stupid, ridiculous fight that won't lead anywhere but more pain. But Steve keeps pushing him, won’t get a fucking clue and just  _go away_ , and Tony's tired and drunk and hurt--and Steve's words break him. Or maybe it's the tone in which he says them, that soft, intimate tone Steve has no right to speak to him in. He lost those privileges a long time ago.

He rounds on Steve. "You want to talk?" Tony hisses through clenched teeth. "You want to talk  _now_? The time for that passed a long time ago, pal. I have  _nothing_ to say to you."

Tony stands up on wobbly legs and tries to leave but Steve steps in front of him, blocking his path. Tony growls and pushes against Steve's chest, trying to force him to move aside, but the man stands like a wall: immovable no matter how hard Tony batters himself against it.

"Tony, stop." Steve pushes against Tony's shoulders, halting his movement, and it's unfair how easy it is for him, how effortlessly he can manhandle Tony.

Tony struggles against Steve’s hold. Panic wells up inside him, his mind trying to take him back to Siberia and other moments where he was held in place: against a wall while someone tried to rip out his arc reactor; pinned to the floor, vulnerable, Steve's shield raised high over his head and coming down, down, down to sever skin from blood from bone.

Steve pleads with him to stop, his hands no longer holding Tony but moving up and down his arms, over his shoulders, down his sides. A part of Tony is cognizant of what's happening here, that he's having another panic attack, but a larger, louder part of him just needs to  _get away_ and Steve isn't letting him, is instead trying to comfort Tony but he doesn’t want it, doesn’t _need_ it, especially not when it was Steve who’d hurt him in the first place.

An anger not unlike the kind he felt upon discovering the true nature of his parents' deaths overtakes him. Suddenly, Tony wants to make Steve hurt, too. With a shriek of fury, Tony shoves Steve away from him with all his might and, with a look of shock on his face, Steve stumbles backward and falls. Tony's on him in a second, beating his fists against Steve. One hit glances across Steve's cheek. Another gets caught on his teeth and the skin of Tony's knuckles splits open, dripping more blood down his arm and into Steve's hair.

Steve doesn't react at all. His eyes are sad and his lips are swollen and bleeding and there's an angry red gash across his cheek from Tony's ring, but he doesn't do anything about it, doesn't block his blows or roll away or try to incapacitate him, just lays there and takes whatever Tony gives him like he deserves the abuse.

Tony's heart hurts. His blows stop and he falls against Steve's chest, pushing his face into Steve's neck as he sobs. "You asshole. You  _fucker_. I hate you so much."

Steve slowly wraps his arms around Tony, one settling over his waist while the other cradles the back of Tony's head, his fingers playing with the strands of his hair.

"I'm sorry, Tony. I'm so sorry," Steve whispers.


	8. had me lookin' for something when there was nothin' to find

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title and mood music: _The Saddest Part_ by Anastacia.
> 
>  
> 
> **Revisions made 06 July, 2017.**

Steve will never admit it, but last night, he'd been scared. Even out of the suit, Tony's rage had literally bowled Steve over, and his fists had left impressions on Steve's skin that had yet to fade completely. Tony had acted out on some primal level and Steve hadn't known what to do. The parallels between what happened last night and their fight in Siberia hadn't been lost on him, and Steve had worried that if he did anything to stop Tony, it only would've made things worse.

He still doesn't know why Tony finally did stop. The question is burning inside of him, demanding an answer, but Steve is afraid to ask it.

Steve watches Tony as he sleeps, his eyes tracking the rhythmic rise and fall of Tony’s chest. There’d been another reason to be scared last night. Tony had lain in his arms for what seemed like hours, his tears soaking through Steve’s shirt. Steve had done everything he could think of to calm him but Tony had been inconsolable. Eventually, Tony’s sobs had tapered off but his breathing had still been irregular, too fast and uneven, and Steve had grown concerned. He looked closer and noticed Tony’s skin had become ashen and felt cold and clammy to the touch. Then, suddenly, Tony had passed out, FRIDAY’s alarms started to shriek, and Steve had panicked.

He doesn’t think he’s ever driven so fast in his life.

The speeding up of the beeping from Tony’s heart monitor tells Steve Tony’s about to wake up. He sits up straighter in his chair and waits, anxiety churning in his gut. He doesn’t know what kind of mood Tony’s going to be in when he wakes up, or even if he’s going to remember anything that happened. A small part of Steve is hoping he doesn’t.

Tony wakes up in stages. First, his face scrunches up like he's eaten something sour. Then, he starts to toss and turn, the blankets becoming knotted around his legs and torso. Finally, his eyelids start to flutter and slowly, they open and Tony stares up at Steve through bleary, red-rimmed eyes.

"I'm still dreaming, right?" Tony's voice is rough like sandpaper.

"Unfortunately, you're not." Steve grabs a glass from the bedside table and holds it out to Tony. "Here."

Tony takes it from him warily, inspecting the glass like he's looking for something wrong with it.

Seriously? If Steve wasn't so worried about Tony, that might have hurt his feelings. "It's not poisoned. Just drink it."

Tony glares at him but doesn't say anything, opting instead to sip at the water slowly then drink it in large gulps when dehydration beats out self-preservation. Steve takes the glass from him when it's empty and walks over to the sink to refill it. Tony drinks that, too, and once he's finished, leans back against his pillows with a sigh of relish.

Steve sets the glass aside. "Better?"

"A little," Tony says begrudgingly. The rasp is gone from his voice. "Still feel like shit, though."

Steve nods. "Not surprising. You blew a point-two BAC. What were you thinking, Tony?"

Tony shrugs. "I was thinking I wanted to get drunk."

"Tony-"

Tony makes a noise like a game show buzzer going off when someone says something wrong.

Steve stares at him incredulously, wondering if Tony is still drunk or maybe losing his mind, because seriously, what the hell? "Tony, what-"

Tony makes the noise again. "Stay in your lane, Rogers. I don't need your lecture."

Steve has been trying hard up to this point to stay calm and reasonable, but he can feel the beginnings of anger starting to crackle under his skin. "I'm just trying to understand, Tony."

"Mustn't ask us. Not its business."

Oh, for the love of--Steve's chest heaves with a great sigh. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair, staring down at Tony challengingly. "Gandalf told me you were one of the river-folk."

Tony looks at him in shock, mouth agape. Steve gives himself a little mental pat on the back that he could so easily derail Tony.

Unfortunately, Tony recovers quickly. "Way to go, Rogers; you've finally become one with pop-culture."

Steve feels like screaming. This is going nowhere. He enjoys a witty repartee as much as the next person, but there are more serious things that need to be addressed, and his patience is wearing thin. "Tony, we need to talk."

"We are talking," Tony points out.

Steve opens his mouth to say something scathing, decides against it, and tips his head back so he's not looking at Tony, so he can't see that smug, shit-eating look on his face. Steve breathes deeply and counts ceiling tiles until the urge to shake Tony disappears.

"You know what I meant," he says finally.

Tony idly plays with the edge of the blanket, never able to sit still, quick fingers plucking out the loose fibers and piling them up in his lap. "What if I don't want to talk to you?"

Steve blows air out through his nose. He counts ten more ceiling tiles before responding. "The least you owe me is an apology, but I'd prefer an explanation."

Tony's gaze is steel. "An apology?" He asks quietly. Steve senses they've suddenly entered dangerous territory. "Like the one I received from you? Should I also offer you pathetic excuses and standard niceties?"

"At least I tried,” Steve says hotly. “I offered you an olive branch but you-"

Tony jerks forward in his bed like he wants to lunge at Steve but he's pulled back by the IV-drip in his arm and the sensors taped to his chest. He stares down at the equipment uncomprehendingly then looks back at Steve with dawning horror in his eyes.

"What the fuck is this, Rogers?"

Tony is trying so hard to hold onto his anger but Steve can hear the tremor underneath the bravado. Steve almost feels bad for him. He knows how much Tony hates hospitals, and Steve knows better than anyone how disconcerting it can be to wake up in a hospital one morning when you had been somewhere else the night before.

"You're in the hospital, Tony," Steve says gently.

"From now on, we shall call you Captain Obvious," Tony says through gritted teeth. "Let me rephrase: _Why the fuck am I here_?"

"Last night, you had an...episode. Angina." Steve notes Tony suddenly looks worried. "Apparently, it's not the first time. When were you going to tell me you were having heart problems?"

There's a muscle ticking in Tony's jaw. He won't look at Steve. "I wasn't," he mutters. "Wasn't important."

Steve scoffs. "Not important? Tony, you-"

"Drop it," Tony growls.

His vehemence takes Steve aback. "Why won't you just-"

"For the love of Thor, Rogers, make like Elsa and just _let it go_."

Steve scrubs his hands over his face and sighs deeply. Sometimes, talking to Tony feels like pulling teeth. "Why are you like this? I'm trying to have an adult conversation with you."

"Haven't you been listening?" Tony sounds exhausted. "I don't want to talk to you. Not about last night, my health, the Accords--anything, really."

"Tony-"

Tony's eyes snap back to Steve's. His gaze is flat and completely devoid of warmth. “Just go away, Steve.”

Tony turns awkwardly in the small hospital bed so his back is facing Steve, effectively shutting him out. Steve stares at him in disbelief, willing Tony to turn around and say something to him, anything, to stop the anguish threatening to overwhelm him. Steve had thought, after last night, they had reached their apogee and maybe, they could begin healing. Steve had _hoped_ , which makes Tony's small dismissal hurt worse than any wound Steve has ever sustained.

This can't be their end, it just can't. Not when it feels like they never had a proper beginning. There had been so much Steve had hoped Tony would be, in time. Now, Steve's fighting tooth and nail just to keep Tony as a distant point on the horizon, driven further away from him with every bumbling misstep.

Why couldn't he and Tony find it within themselves to get along? Steve had thought, once, if he could just parse out where it had all gone wrong, they could fix it. He's quickly learning, though, that nothing between them had ever been _right_. From their first meeting, they were always taking shots at each other, always fighting, always _hurting_ , with their words and their fists. Even in quiet moments, there seemed to be an undercurrent of tension between them. How does one begin to fix that? Is it even possible to rebuild on a foundation that never actually existed?

If Steve hadn't already received the lecture of a lifetime from Nat, he'd feel far more hopeless right now. She had seemed convinced Tony really did want a reconciliation between them, however deep down those feelings might be. Steve has come to trust her impressions about people, has seen on more than one occasion how spot-on her intuition usually is. He holds onto her confidence like a lifeline, uses it as a buoy to stay afloat when he feels like he's going under.

He's just going to have to try harder, is all.

By now, Tony is asleep, his chest falling and rising rhythmically with his even breaths. Steve watches him a little longer, gaze raking over the too-sharp line of Tony’s jaw and the deep furrows under his eyes. He looks like hell, like he hasn’t had a proper rest in ages. Steve knows he’s partially to blame for this, and he feels a sudden spurt of guilt so strong, it almost knocks him flat.

Tony shifts in his sleep, turning to rest on his other side so he’s facing Steve. His hair flops back to lay against the pillow. There’s more grey in it than Steve remembers ever seeing. It’s longer, too, and curling at the edges. One lock falls limp across Tony’s eyes and Steve gently brushes it aside.

He leans in close to whisper into Tony’s ear. “You’re right, Tony, and I’m sorry. I didn’t try hard enough before.” He hesitates, feeling slightly silly, then continues, anyway, “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what to say to make the hurt go away. I want to, though. So, help a guy out, would ya? I can’t do this by myself.”

Steve rearranges the blankets around Tony one last time then leaves him to his rest.

\----

Steve is there again the next morning, waiting for Tony to wake up. He does so with far more grace than yesterday. He looks better, too: the pinched look is gone from his mouth and there’s a little more color in his skin.

Tony looks at him with resignation in his eyes. “Oh. You’re still here.”

Steve ignores this. “How do you feel?”

Tony turns his neck to the side and the _snap crackle pop_ is sickening. “Less like I’ve been mauled by a bear.”

Steve smiles. “Good.” He pulls a tray of eggs and sausages from the bedside table and holds it out to Tony. There’s coffee, too, which Tony zeroes in on like it’s a homing beacon. “I got you some breakfast. Had to sweet-talk the doctor a little bit, but being Captain America has its perks, sometimes.”

Tony takes the tray from him and sets it in his lap. The coffee he cradles in his hands and takes a deep sniff before downing half the contents of the mug in one swallow. There’s a little smile playing at the corners of his mouth that Steve is surprised to see.

“I’m getting a sense of déjà vu,” Tony says musingly, once he’s finished his coffee. “Why are you suddenly so gung-ho about taking care of me?”

Steve lifts one shoulder and lets it drop. “I’ve always _tried_ to take care of you. You’re just really shitty at listening.”

Tony points his fork at Steve. “Touché.”

They fall silent for a little while, Tony focused on eating his breakfast while Steve pretends to watch _Friends_ but really, he’s watching Tony. Something about this morning feels different. Steve had prepared himself for more vitriol from Tony but instead, Tony’s being mostly…friendly. Steve’s almost afraid to move for fear of breaking this fragile peace.

Steve is so engrossed in his thoughts, he misses the strange looks Tony keeps shooting his way.

“Why are you staring at me like you’re afraid I’m going to disappear?” Tony asks, looking both amused and confused.

Steve shakes his head slowly. “I guess I’m just wondering if I’m dreaming.”

Tony reaches over and pokes Steve in the arm with his fork. It doesn’t hurt, not really, but Steve protests, anyway, just for the fun of it.

“See?” Tony’s smile is all teeth. “Not dreaming.”

Steve’s chest hurts like he’s breathing oxygen for the first time after drowning. He doesn’t know what’s happening here, isn’t sure where this sudden camaraderie came from, but now that he has it, Steve would do anything to keep it.

Of course, that’s when reality chooses to come knocking in the form of one Colonel James Rhodes.”

Steve stands automatically to greet him. His hand is halfway to his brow before he stops himself. “Colonel. What-”

James glares at him. “I’ll deal with you, later.” He rounds on Tony and points a judgmental finger in his face. “ _You_ have some ‘splainin’ to do.”

Tony looks nonplussed. “Rhodey? What are you _doing_ here?”

“FRIDAY called me,” James hisses. Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look so angry. “Couldn’t let your best friend know you were in the hospital?”

“To be fair, I didn’t know I was here, myself,” Tony says sheepishly. “Not until last night. It’s his fault, really, so be angry at him.”

James stares at Tony incredulously for a second then throws his arms in the air as if saying _why me_. If Steve wasn’t slightly afraid for his life, it’d be comical.

As it is, he feels the need to defend himself. “I brought him here. He suffered an attack of-”

“Angina. I know,” James says bitterly. “Just had a lovely chat with the doctor. By the way, Tones? You’re never leaving this hospital.”

Tony pouts. “Now, honeybear, be reasonable. It’s not like I suffered-”

He stops short, that panicked look from the night before briefly crossing his features again. Steve’s curiosity ramps up. Why does Tony seem so reticent to talk about his health problems? What is he hiding?

“Not like you suffered a heart attack?” James asks harshly. He leans into Tony’s space, staring him down. “Again?”

Wait. Again?

“What are you talking about?” Steve asks quietly. There’s a hole in his abdomen where his stomach used to be. “Tony had a heart attack?”

“Jesus, Tony. You didn’t tell him?”

“I didn’t think he needed to know,” Tony says defensively.

Steve’s knees feel weak. “Tell me what?”

James turns to look at Steve for the first time since he entered the room. His expression is stern but his voice is surprisingly gentle. “Tony suffered a minor heart attack after you left him in Siberia.”

There’s a sound like a dial tone pulsing in Steve’s ears. He glances at the heart monitor over Tony’s bed, watches the line as it climbs then flatlines rhythmically to the beat of Tony’s heart. It’s a strong heartbeat, all things considered.

Steve’s knees give out and he stumbles backward, falling into his chair. He puts his hands over his eyes so he doesn’t have to see Tony’s vitals anymore, but the image is seared into his brain. Except now, the little hills and valleys are spaced too far apart until they stop completely and the steady beeping becomes a monotonous drone.

When Steve pulls his hands away from his face, they’re wet.

“Oh, hell,” Steve hears Tony say. “You made him cry.”


	9. we carry on our backs the burden time always reveals

"How long, Tony?" Steve asks, his voice loud in the stilted quiet of the hospital room.

Tony snorts. "Now, there's a loaded question."

"Damn it, Tony, would you just-" Steve takes a deep breath and clenches his fists in his lap. He tries again. "How long are we going to be at each other's throats like this? When does it end?"

Tony looks at him steadily, the expression in his eyes hard to read in the faint light of his bedside lamp. Steve thinks its sadness.

"What do you want me to say, Steve? That I'm suddenly feeling closer to you now because we shared a moment?"

Steve has to look away from Tony or he's going to say something he'll later regret. "At this point, I'd settle for you answering a question directly."

"Fine. You want to know how long? You want to know when it will end?" Tony asks in a hurry, his voice tight and his expression morphing into anger. "It'll stop when I can look at you without feeling the burn from your knife."

Steve's standing before he even realizes it, towering over Tony who shrinks back into his pillows, shocked into silence by the sudden movement.

"Stop being so fucking dramatic, Tony," Steve spits. "I did what I did because I _had_ to."

"And _I_ did what _I_ had to do," Tony seethes. "Sorry not sorry that our opinions differ."

Steve rakes his hands through his hair, gripping the ends hard. That little bit of pain offers him a modicum of clarity and he falls back into his chair to stare at Tony, searching for something to say that won't turn into another shouting match. He can't, so he waits for Tony to say something.

Tony looks like he's searching for the right words, too. He keeps opening and shutting his mouth, and he looks so much like a fish, it'd be almost comical if Steve was in the mood to laugh.

"I know you think I'm being deliberately difficult," Tony says finally, slowly.

Steve looks at him incredulously, one eyebrow raised.

Tony shakes his head ruefully. "Okay, fine. I'm being deliberately difficult. But I think, given the circumstances, I'm allowed to feel a little resentful."

Steve sighs out a long exhale. He feels himself deflate like a balloon, as though all his bones and muscles have suddenly disappeared. The sensation leaves him feeling strangely hollow.

"I don't blame you, Tony," he says with a little shake of his head. "I just wish you would stop blaming me."

Tony's face goes through an interesting line-up of emotions, beginning with anger and winding up somewhere between sad and resigned.

"It's funny you say that," Tony says in that way which means there's nothing funny about it, at all. "It's funny, because-"

He stops there, though, his mouth snapping shut with an audible click, seemingly deciding against saying anything further. Steve prods at him beseechingly then in frustration as Tony remains silent.

Steve, about at the end of his rope, gets up to leave. "Fine. Be that way." If Tony doesn't want to talk to him, whatever. Steve's too done to care right now.

Tony's quiet voice stops him in his tracks. "There you go again. You're always walking away from me."

Steve doesn't turn back to look at Tony. "Do you want me to stay or do you want me to go? You can't have it both ways, Tony."

Tony doesn't say anything so Steve leaves. Every step he takes feels like he's walking through molasses. He doesn't want to leave but he knows he must if he wants to maintain any semblance of control. He's not infallible and being constantly battered by Tony's scorn is really shaking his resolve to work things out. He's _trying_ , damn it. It'd be nice if Tony would at least meet him halfway. He'd thought, after yesterday, they'd made some headway but today, Tony is right back to his old, insufferable self. Steve feels like he's on a seesaw and the constant up and down is getting old.

He just needs to get away for a little bit, needs to put some space between him and Tony so he can calm down, regroup, and face the man again without the urge to shake him stupid.

He runs into James on his way out. Steve tries to walk around, not in the mood to deal with him right now--or anything, really. He stops, though, when James steps in front of him and lays a heavy hand on his shoulder. He has too much respect for the man not to.

"I don't know why you're here," James says quietly. "No, don't answer the question; I don't actually care. But if Tony winds up hurt again, _Captain_ , so help me-"

Anger flares up in Steve. He shakes off James' hand and glares at him. "Maybe you should ask Tony about what happened last night, first, before making any judgments. Colonel."

James crowds into Steve's space. "You're lucky, Steve. If you hadn't already left the military, I could have you for insubordination."

Steve stands his ground, staring back at James with equal fervor. "I'm trying to make things right."

James scoffs. "Do you honestly think you can, Steve? Whatever was there between you and Tony is long gone. What makes you think he wants anything to do with your half-assed attempts at reconciliation?"

Steve looks away from James. He spies Tony through the window of his hospital room, reclined against his pillows and not paying a lick of attention to the two men standing just outside the door. He's too engrossed in something on his phone, his fingers flying across the keyboard. Every so often, he says something unintelligible to FRIDAY and she responds in her crisp, no-nonsense tone. There's a fire in Tony's eyes Steve hasn't seen in a long time, and he wonders what amazing thing Tony's brain has concocted now.

With a pang of remembrance, Steve is brought back to the days before Siberia, before the Accords, before Ultron, before SHIELD's collapse, before...before, when their relationship was still new, still rocky, and they were floundering through it, trying to find out how they fit together. Steve had spent a lot of time down in the lab then. That's where Tony spent most of his time, where he was most comfortable, and most willing to be himself. It was easier for Steve to reach him there, easier to find a way to communicate when they were both half-distracted.

Steve had loved watching Tony work. It was amusing to see Tony flit from work station to work station like an erratic butterfly. The kinetic energy moved through Tony's entire body, animating his mouth, his hands and fingers, even his hair. The ends always wound up sticking out in odd directions because Tony liked to tug on them when he was thinking. In those moments, he was the very picture of a mad scientist, and there was no shortage of sketches in Steve's book featuring Tony in his creative disarray.

Steve had also spent a lot of time in those early days befriending DUM-E. He'd been completely mesmerized by the robot. How could something without a face, without a _soul_ , express so many different emotions?

DUM-E had loved Steve. Whenever Steve walked through the door, DUM-E always dropped whatever he was working on with Tony to prod at him. Sometimes, DUM-E brought him little gifts: smoothies that tasted like garbage but Steve drank them, anyway, because he hadn't wanted to hurt DUM-E's feelings; blueprints of schematics Tony had abandoned but DUM-E knew Steve liked to look at them, so he'd steal them out of the garbage; and, one time, an old t-shirt of Tony's that smelled like his cologne and motor oil. Steve had squirreled it away quickly so Tony wouldn't know he had it. Still has it, in fact, though the smell is gone now.

Tony had liked to joke about DUM-E's crush on him. He always told Steve he didn't have to take the things DUM-E gave him, said it would only encourage him to do it more. After a while, Tony acted annoyed whenever DUM-E abandoned him for Steve, though Steve likes to think his treatment of DUM-E is what initially endeared Tony to him, in the first place. Even though Tony likes to pretend DUM-E is nothing more than a nuisance, Steve knows better. He knows Tony thinks of his bots like children. He saw the footage, he knows what happened to DUM-E after that mess with Killian, and he knows how much it had killed Tony when he thought DUM-E was lost.

He remembers the joy on Tony's face when DUM-E was found again.

Steve doesn't think he's seen Tony look so happy in a long time. He wishes they could go back to those early days when things were so much simpler and there wasn't all this baggage between them. If only they hadn't been so _stupid_ , who knows what things between them would be like, now?

Steve's not a man prone to wishful thinking, but he thinks right now, he'd really like a time machine so he could go back and do things differently. But who's to say he would? The benefit of hindsight is always twenty-twenty but by then, the mistakes have already been made and there's only the fall-out left.

They've made so many mistakes. Their fall-out was nearly fatal. There's so much to apologize for, so much wrong that needs to be made right. The full breadth of the last six years suddenly feels so heavy and Steve staggers under the weight of it, leaning back against the wall to catch his breath.

James reaches out to him, one heavy palm falling to land on Steve’s shoulder, though this time it’s in concern. “Steady, soldier.”

Steve hears an echo of Tony once saying that they are not soldiers. He still doesn’t know why he had followed Tony that day, just knows that something inside of him had reacted viscerally to Tony’s quiet anger. It’s the first time he really saw Tony, got a glimpse of the man underneath the shiny veneer. Until then, he’d thought Tony was just a selfish asshole who didn’t care about anybody but himself. That wound up being so far from the truth. In his own way, he’d cared about Coulson, and losing him had shaken something inside of Tony loose. When Steve had made that crack about Tony’s first time losing a soldier, he hadn’t known what to expect, but Tony’s seething conviction that he wasn’t a soldier, that none of them were soldiers, that none of their lives were expendable—not Coulson’s, not Tony’s, not Steve’s—had shocked Steve. He’d spent years wanting nothing more than to serve his country, even unto his own death. Steve thinks now maybe Tony understands better than any of them that there is more to life than dying, that there are better things to live for.

Steve has missed a lot of life’s little pleasures in his pursuit of righteousness. He missed his chance with Peggy, and his chances with Tony are minuscule, at best. He doesn’t want to live that way, anymore.

“No,” Steve says slowly. “I’m not a soldier. Not anymore.”

James looks at him appraisingly. “Then what are you?”

Steve considers. “I’m just a kid from Brooklyn,” he says after a moment. Then, ruefully, “And I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.”

James laughs. Honest-to-God _laughs_ and Steve is so shocked by it, he starts to laugh, too. It eases some of the pressure that had been building in his chest and he feels like he can breathe again. They laugh until they can’t stand upright, leaning against each other for support. Steve doesn’t even know why he’s laughing anymore, just that it feels good and it’s probably just his body trying to release some of the tension, that it’s either laugh or cry.

Steve thinks there’s been enough sadness.

Their laughter tapers off and they stand again, Steve pulling James upright gently, cognizant of the quiet whirl of the exoskeleton hidden underneath the army fatigues he’s still wearing from earlier.

It’s just another layer of guilt stacked on top of decades of it.

Steve pulls away from James, suddenly feeling ashamed. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

James looks at him steadily. “What doesn’t kill me only makes me stronger.”

Steve shakes his head. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

James shrugs. “No, it shouldn’t have. But it did. Only option is to overcome it, somehow.”

Steve blows air out through his nose. “I think I can,” he says slowly. “He makes it difficult, though.”

James snorts out another short laugh. “Tony is always making things difficult for everybody, including for himself. _Especially_ for himself.” That appraising look is back. It makes Steve feel like he’s being read like a book. “You and Tony are a lot alike, you know.”

Steve snorts. “No way.”

James nods. “It’s true. You both carry around massive amounts of guilt like your own personal crosses to bear.” James squeezes Steve’s shoulder one last time and pulls his hand away. “Do yourself a favor? Let it go.”

Steve groans and lightly shoves James away from him. “You both suck.”

James smiles at him. “Don’t worry about Tony. He’ll come around eventually.”

“That’s what Nat said, too,” Steve says. “Forgive me if I’m having a hard time believing it right now. Sometimes I just want to-” Steve makes a gesture with his hands like he’s shaking something.

“Trust me, you’re not the only one."

Steve offers James a small smile. "Thanks, for this. For listening."

"Yeah, well,"  James says with a shrug. "Someone might as well start."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't decide if I want Steve to have been dishonorably discharged from the military after the events of the Accords, or if I want him to just not have had any part of it, at all, since waking up in the ice.


	10. point of no return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I have no excuses. Apparently, today is the day my Muse decided she was ready to work on this fic again.

Tony tries his best not to pay attention to the hushed conversation occurring outside of his hospital room, but they're no more than a dozen feet from him and the walls are thin. And he's never been very good at self-preservation, anyway.

Tony scowls and pulls out his phone, hoping to find something, anything to distract himself with. He'd even be glad to get a tedious e-mail from Pepper, or an angry, nosy one from Ross—anything to help him ignore the feeling of betrayal stirring in his chest as he listens to Rhodey laugh with Steve.

Finally, Tony hears Steve's heavy footsteps walking away. Tony can't help himself and he glares at Rhodey as he enters the room. It's been a chaotic couple of days in a chaotic month in a chaotic year in a chaotic decade, and Tony is so done with everything. He's got nothing to give, anymore.

"Welcome, Judas."

Rhodey sits down in the chair next to Tony's bed, the one Steve had so recently vacated, and pins Tony under his stern albeit exhausted gaze. "Don't be like that."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Tony says airily.

Rhodey rolls his eyes. "Don't you think it's time to grow up a little?"

Tony smiles sweetly. "Honey, no matter how many times you ask me that, the answer is always going to be the same."

Rhodey makes a frustrated little noise in the back of his throat. "Damn it, Tony, I'm serious."

Tony crosses his arms across his chest and glares back at Rhodey. "So am I. Not long ago, you were cursing his name right along with me." Rhodey winces and Tony feels a little victorious. He pushes further. "Now, suddenly, you're buddy-buddy again? Whose side are you on, anyway?"

Rhodey pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes like he's in pain. "It's not that simple."

"Yeah. I've heard that before." Tony knows more than most that the world isn't black-and-white. Normally, he's more than okay to operate in the grey areas but in this case, he's finding it extremely difficult to let go of his anger. He's been nursing it for so long, he's not sure he could function without it. Somedays, it seems like it's the only thing keeping him going.

"Look," Rhodey sighs, "I'm not saying I forgive Steve completely—No, just listen to me. I  _don't_  forgive Steve. In my eyes, he still has a lot to make up for."

"To say the least," Tony mutters.

"But you have a lot to make up for, too."

Tony sputters. "Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

No, he doesn’t. In fact, Tony doesn’t think he’s ever seen Rhodey look so serious in his life, which is saying a lot, considering everything they’ve been through together.

Rhodey continues: “You’ve both been idiots and to be honest, Tony, I’m sick of it. It’s time to put your big boy pants on and talk to Steve. There’s a storm comin’ and the only way we’re going to weather it is if you guys figure out a way to play nicely.”

“Did you get that from a fortune cookie?” Tony grumbles, unable to help himself.

Rhodey doesn't dignify that with a response, steering the conversation onto a more serious path. “Steve told me about what happened the other night, Tony.”

Damn. Tony was hoping Rhodey would never find out about that. “It was stupid,” he mutters, waving his hand as though to clear the air of a bad smell. He just wants Rhodey to drop it, but knows he won't be that lucky.

“Seems like lately, you’re always doing stupid things,” Rhodey says idly.

Tony’s hackles raise. “Is that it, then? You came here to lecture me?”

Rhodey pushes forward into Tony’s space, stares him down until Tony looks away, unable to face the anguish in Rhodey’s eyes. “I came because I thought my friend was  _dying_ ,” Rhodey says. He falls back in his chair with a groan and scrubs his hands over his face, his fingertips coming back suspiciously wet. 

It hits Tony suddenly how exhausted and haggard Rhodey looks. He remembers Rhodey is supposed to be out-of-state, on a mission to root out the last of HYDRA's influence in the government. He must've caught a late plane to make it back to New York so quickly. Who knows what toll it took on his still-healing body, not to mention the emotional turmoil he must've been in.

Tony feels like shit. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “You’re right; I'm always doing stupid things.”

Rhodey offers him a wane smile and holds out his hand. Tony takes it and squeezes it tightly.

“It has to stop, Tony,” Rhodey says quietly, looking down at their clasped hands. “All the fighting, the stupid decisions, the finger-pointing and the he-said-he-said. All of it.”

Tony closes his eyes and shakes his head minutely. The thing Rhodey doesn’t understand is that every time Tony looks at Steve, he relives the past all over again. He looks into Steve’s eyes and sees everything from their first meeting right up until their last mirrored in those baby blues. Tony’s been avoiding mirrors, lately; he doesn’t like what he sees staring back at him. Steve is the worst of them, only if he drove his fist through this one, he’d be shattering more than glass. He thinks, sometimes, the fallout would be worth it.

Rhodey clutches at Tony’s shoulder and turns him to face him, his eyes staring into Tony’s beseechingly. “You have to try, Tony. For  _your_  sake, you have to try.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Tony admits quietly. It’s a hard thing for him, this admission. Tony’s always believed that nothing is impossible, if you try hard enough. He’s done a lot of things nobody thought could be done just by sheer for of will.  _This_  thing, though, is simply too much. Herculean, even. There’s too much hurt between him and Steve for their jagged edges to ever line up smoothly again. They’re only going to cut each other more.

“Tony, listen to me,” Rhodey says earnestly and gives Tony a little shake to make sure he’s really paying attention. “I’d like to think, by now, you could take care of yourself but let’s be honest with each other, that’s never going to happen.”

Tony gives Rhodey a little smile.

Rhodey continues, “It’s hard, Tony, I know. He hurt you bad and it’s going to take a lot of hard work to get over that. But you must try. You’re going to need each other, in the end. I won’t always be there to save your ass, Tony.”

“Rhodey-”

Tony is saved from responding by his doctor’s entrance. Good thing, too, because to this day, Tony can’t be reminded of what happened to Rhodey without feeling too much pressure in his chest and a buzzing in his head. He’d come so close to losing him and for what? Nothing had been accomplished but the breaking of the Avengers at a time when the world needed them most. And Rhodey had barely survived it.

The guilt had practically consumed him. So, he’d done the only thing he could to atone for it: he’d worked day and night and day again to build Rhodey an exoskeleton that had, over time, helped Rhodey re-learn how to walk. All the doctors and specialists they saw had all been skeptical but if Tony could figure out how to build his home on a previously uninhabitable spit of rock, he could damn well do this. He owed it to his friend.

Rhodey is better now. He can walk, with the exoskeleton, though with some difficulty. But he’s better, and growing stronger every day, and Tony…

“Tony, breathe.”

Tony gasps. His heart monitor is going off. His doctor looks harried but Rhodey is calm as he urges Tony to put his head between his legs. Tony concentrates on regulating his breathing, letting Rhodey coach him through it until the dizziness goes away and he no longer feels like he’s falling.

His doctor is eyeing him appraisingly, one eyebrow raised as he takes in Tony’s vitals and the way they’re slowly returning to normal. “Well, I was going to release you today, but after that little episode, perhaps I’d better keep you.”

“C’mon, doc,” Tony groans. “Let an old man live a little.”

His doctor shakes his head. “Mr. Stark, given the circumstances, I really think it’s best to-”

“Look, here’s the thing,” Tony tries to speak calmly but he can feel the panic rising again.  _The thing is_ , he hates hospitals. Besides the fact they smell like formaldehyde and death, they’re too constricting. Tony is used to open skies and the feeling of wind on his face. He’s not cut out for small spaces. “The thing is-”

Rhodey places a calming hand on Tony’s shoulder and turns to face the doctor. “The thing is, doctor, he’d recover much quicker at home than here in the hospital.” He gives the doctor a winning smile. “Don’t you think?”

The doctor stares hard at Rhodey, a muscle working in his jaw as he debates whether he wants to go against the war-hardened Colonel or not.

“I suppose,” the doctor finally says. “At the very least, he’d be more comfortable.”

Tony doesn’t waste any time. He pulls the sensors off him, making a face as they pull at his hair. He lets the doctor remove the IV, rubbing at the back of his hand once it’s out to take away the sting. He climbs out of the bed on unsteady legs and heads to the bathroom to change.

“Thank you, doctor,” Rhodey says. 

The doctor sighs. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to remind Mr. Stark to-”

“Avoid stress!” Tony calls from the bathroom. “Got it.”

“And eat some goddamn vegetables,” the doctor shouts back. He scrawls his signature across the discharge papers and throws them down onto the hospital bed with a sigh then leaves, muttering under his breath about impossible patients. 

\-----

Tony and Rhodey collect Steve and the three of them go out to the car together. The drive back to the compound is quiet and tense, with Tony actively ignoring Steve’s presence in the backseat. He also ignores the exasperated looks Rhodey constantly throws his way.

When they get back to the compound, Tony immediately makes a break for the lab. Steve tries to follow but Rhodey holds him back.

“Let’s give him a few,” Tony hears Rhodey say. He doesn’t hear Steve’s response.

Down in the lab, Tony greets U and DUM-E then settles in front of his desk, intent on getting some work done.

Except, he can't focus. At least, not on anything important, his brain choosing instead to hyperfixate on Steve's mug and the disheartened look he got in his eyes when Tony blew him off. He tries not to feel guilty about it—what did Steve expect? Tony's not about to grovel at his feet simply because Steve had helped him out of a tight spot. It hadn't suddenly made everything okay between them.

Only, it had changed something. Tony thinks about Steve now and doesn't feel the anger that'd kept him going for so long. The only things he feels now are sadness and guilt and a sense of something hovering just outside of his reach, if only he's willing to reach out and take it.

Tony groans and scrubs at his face, trying to wipe away the image of a sad Steve bumbling around somewhere upstairs, a frown tugging down the corners of his mouth as he wondered where it all went wrong.

Tony could answer that question for him. It was all wrong from the moment Steve looked at Tony and judged him as a person not worthy of his respect. They'd never been able to bounce back from that, their friendship built on a crumbling foundation. Now that it's been completely eroded, Tony has no idea where they should even begin to rebuild. 

But Rhodey had asked Tony to try. For his sake, for Steve's sake, for their sake, for  _humanity's_  sake. Tony thinks it's a bit manipulative, bringing humanity into this, but Rhodey's not  _wrong_. To defeat whatever is coming their way, they'll need to work together. With all this infighting, they're as likely to destroy themselves as much as their enemies could

If the world ended because Tony and Steve couldn't get their shit together, then Tony would really have something to feel guilty about. A petty little voice inside of him is angry that he's let Steve be the big man up until this point. Tony simply can't abide someone being better than him.

With a huff, he pushes back from his desk. Screw this. He's not going to give the world any more reason to think he's a selfish asshole. "FRIDAY, where is Steve?"

"He is in his room," comes her curt reply, and Tony imagines she's disappointed in him for caving in.

Tony steps into the private elevator that will take him straight to the living quarters. "Y'know, FRIDAY, if we're going to pull this off, you're going to have to play nice, too."

Her silence is answer enough and Tony laughs a little, not for the first time wondering why he'd given his AIs such distinct personalities.

Before he's ready, he's standing in front of Steve's door, the dark, unassuming wood intimidating for what it shields from Tony's view. He has half a mind to turn around, but Rhodey's words float back into his mind and, with a scowl, he raises one hand and knocks on the door.

It opens at the third knock, Steve standing in front of Tony in nothing but boxers and a tight, white shirt that leaves nothing to the imagination. His expression reads shock and guarded relief. "Tony? What are you doing here."

Tony drags his eyes away from the way the muscles in Steve's chest flex when he talks. Now is not the time to be getting distracted. "We need to talk," he bites out through clenched teeth, steeling himself for some kind of sarcastic or condescending or self-righteous response from Steve.

To his credit, Steve doesn't say anything, simple steps aside and gestures for Tony to enter his room. Tony takes a steadying breath and crosses the threshold into the point of no return.


End file.
